


Unteach Us to Complain

by toujours_nigel



Series: Stepping Out [2]
Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man at the door was tall, blond, and clad in naval blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unteach Us to Complain

The man at the door was tall, blond, and clad in naval blues. He was also staring at Sandy as though he was barely a half-step above a marmoset in the evolutionary ladder. Sandy, entirely without thought, took a swift half-step back into the room, hand tight on the door. Some of the guests were in the service themselves, and if a friend of theirs had invited himself, all unknowing... Well, no way of getting out of it now.  
  
“Is Alec here?”  
  
“Yes.” Hullo, I’m Sandy Reid. Nice to meet you, Mr...? Bah. “Come in, I’ll go fetch him.”  
  
Alec was at the other end of the room, charming all of Sandy’s friends, and it irked him to expose them all to the clear blue eyes watching steadily. Mene, mene, teke, upharsin, like the story of Daniel. Alec, being Alec, turned cheerfully well before he was called. “Someone’s looking for you.” Alec cast a pensive glance over the gathered heads, seemed on the verge of saying something witty and flippant, and then caught sight of the new arrival. It was always amusing to see how people reacted when Alec cast aside the coquettish facade it amused him to don—how did they not realise how wonderful he really was? “Go, then, he looked about ready to kill someone.”  
  
He followed Alec with his eyes till the door closed, and Simon, who had been standing far too close through it all, affected a sly smile, and said, “That’s very generous of you, you know. I would never have let someone like Alec away from me even a moment, if I had him.”  
  
To which Sandy, half-regretting his decision already, and exhausted after a day in the hospital being met by hostile glances from mulish patients, could find nothing better to say, than, “Well, my dear, you haven’t got him, so you needn’t bother, do you?” Which was regrettable, and boorish, and for which he would have to make amends later, but which felt jubilantly satisfactory at the moment, no matter how childish. When he tried the door, later, a man’s hand was holding it shut—he was only surprised they hadn’t retired to the loo.  
  
When they came back—two drinks and a sandwich and several glances at the clock later—Alec looked flushed, eyes tightened to peer at a dissatisfactory future. His friend had recovered enough to shake hands all around, and set to charming people with a finesse that quite outdid even Bunny at his best—though Sandy couldn’t think Alec had ever much liked that masterful touch, or the too-overt sincerity. It rang wrong, that laugh—ingratiating and mocking, all at once.  
  
He did not, as Sandy had fervently hoped, leave with the others—rather, he stretched out in possession of the sofa, and lit a cigarette, only belatedly remembering to offer him one. “Properly ensconced in the ghetto, I see.”  
  
Alec coloured. “Ralph.”  
  
“Wonderful pearls on some of them.” He was, it grew evident, rather drunk, enunciating carefully in order to avoid slurring. “Really, Alexander, your tastes have grown so _very_ exquisite, it makes one feel quite shabby.” Alec glanced rather helplessly up at Sandy, who turned on his heel and retreated to the kitchen to do the washing-up. Best not stand around working himself into a temper; one outburst per party was quite enough.  
  
By the time he recovered enough to risk looking back into the room, they were sitting quite close together, Alec’s arm around his friend’s shoulder, tipping his head close. “You can’t be certain. Why, I’ve had letters come back and then the man himself, hale as ever.” It was Alec’s sickroom voice, dipping into a pleasant monotone, much more than his words, that sent him back into the kitchen.  
  
There was a sound, after a time, that might have been the prelude to an argument, or simply tired assent.


End file.
